


Night Rising

by SilentWonder



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Explicit Sex, F/F, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Libraries, Monster sex, Multi, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWonder/pseuds/SilentWonder
Summary: This story takes place on the First, after night returns. We will be following a certain librarian with a certain secret that she is very keen on keeping.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue: Stories in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place on the First, after night returns. We will be following a certain librarian with a certain secret that she is very keen on keeping.

“They say a monster roams the stacks.” A Hume girl of perhaps twelve leans forward, conspiratorially, close to the small, flickering candle that sputters in the center of the group of her peers. “They say that, if you go too deep, take a wrong turn, you’ll never be seen or heard from again.”

“More likely they just got lost.” A Galdjent boy, arrogant, lounging. “The Cabinet of Curiosity’s library is big enough I bet you could lose an _entire_ army in here. And you’d never find their bones, neither.”

“ _They say,_ _”_ the girl said, side-eying him, “that it makes it’s home amongst the oldest of manuscripts. If you dare lay a finger on one—” she held a finger up, “then _shlurph shlurph shlurph,_ it gobbles you up whole. And it’s so deep in the stacks, and the books absorb the noise so well, no one will hear you scream.”

“That doesn’t seem right.” A small Mystel boy pushes his eyeglasses back up. “I know you can check out old manuscripts. I mean, you can’t take them out of the library, you have to read them in one of reading areas, but you just have to ask. One of the librarians, she’s real good at finding old books. You just ask—”

“Well then. Why don’t you go get a book from the Archive section.” The girl crossed her arms.

“What? Right now?”

“Yes! Prove there _isn_ _’t_ a monster. It’s right past those shelves there. There’s a sign above the door. The door doesn’t even close all the way.”

“B-but you’re supposed to ask!” the Mystel said. “You’re not supposed to go back there by yourself! The books are old and delicate and—”

“Is this a fire—IN MY STACKS?” The voice boomed, loudly, causing all of the children to visibly jump. Out of the long shadows loomed a tall, dark figure.

“Miss Muiregin!” the Mystel stuttered. “We weren’t—we weren’t—”

“What _I_ see,” said the figure, who, upon emerging out of the shadows, proved to be a tall, silver-haired Elf with spectacles, “is a naked flame surrounded by _very dry_ and _very valuable_ paper and —” A heel ground down upon the flame, plunging everyone into darkness, “—if some _impertinent_ and _thoughtless_ young ones don’t _immediately_ remove themselves from the Cabinet, you may be _very sure_ you will meet the monster in the stacks.” A small lantern flared into being, casting a small, begrudging light. “Now follow me or whatever stories you have told yourselves about the monster will be sweet lullabies compared to _me._ ”

Indeed, this is one thing, in many worlds, in many continuums, that is true.

A librarian in their natural habitat is the scariest creature there is.

And they know where the secrets are kept.


	2. Night Falling

Secrets.

Meet Izane Muiregin, librarian at the Cabinet of Curiosity for, well, as long as the everlasting day had been. People speculated on whether she ever left the library; no matter what hour one turned up, if the words passed your lips that you sought some old book or little-known manuscript, she would materialize like a book-based dryad and offer assistance to your search. While there were other librarians, none could match her knowledge of the ancient and unknown. Her eccentricities and fierce possessiveness of her stacks were easily written off as the price one must pay for knowledge such as hers.

Truth was, she was in the Cabinet the day the world flooded with light, searching for an answer to the coming calamity that crept upon them. She’d been there since.

She permitted and even encouraged the rumors to float—she was some benevolent library angel, full of knowledge and always ready with the lore tidbit you sought – and also willing to unleash divine judgement upon those who did not respect the stacks.

And she would have continued indefinitely. Until the night returned.

A benefit to being a gatekeeper of knowledge was, of course, that you could filter what knowledge you permitted to slip between your fingers. Few, save she, ventured into the deepest part of the stacks, musty with the dust of centuries and the figments of forgotten knowledge.

Knowledge that became legends. Legends that became myths. And for a world drowning in light, the faerie tales of the night faded from the stories people told their children. That adults whispered about around the dinner table. The terrors of the darkness gave way to the nightmares of the light everlasting, where you could behold your monsters clearly under a sky of unwavering day.

And then the night returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was part of a longer chapter, but I've decided to break it up into segments, if nothing else than to make sure I can keep pushing myself to push stuff out.


	3. Rumors

Izane Muiregin stepped outside the Cabinet of Curiousity, feeling the coolness of the night sky embrace her. She recalled that first night, not so long ago; that first night in a hundred years. She’d been deep in the stacks, in a half-asleep state, when, even so far removed from the light, she sensed it. That coolness, reaching in like a forgotten lover. The departure of the ever-baking Light that infiltrated every sense of every being, even if she was the only one that had words to describe the sensation.

She had stepped out of the Cabinet for the first time in a hundred years. And, surrounded by the good people of Crystarium, she turned her naked face towards the night sky. And saw the stars.

It would have been easy to stay at the Cabinet. Easy to remain in the Crystarium; to continue to explore the city she had lived in but hadn’t seen for a hundred years.

Easy to forget what she had spent the last century ensuring the world forgot.

But with the return of the night came a realization, and a sense of duty.

To ensure some things remain forgotten.

*****

She’d only followed the rumors. Rumors of a particular stripe. A world, harried and bent from the not-so-far-removed terror of Lightbringers, were only too glad to share their trauma with Izane Muiregin, Cabinet Historian. She listened intently behind her veil, and wrote down their stories with her gloved hands. If anyone dared to inquire as to why she hid her skin, she would softly explain that she suffered a condition where the light burned. And then politely inquire as to their own tale of suffering.

She’d followed the rumors to Stilltide.

The villagers said it must have been a renegade Lightbringer. They were still spotted, from time to time; people came together to swarm them like rats bringing down a rail, gleeful and determined to erase the reminders that their world, until recently, had been dying.

She had nodded, and wrote their words down, and then inquired as to the location of this atrocity. There had been brief attempts to dissuade her, but no one could long withstand the withering look from behind the veil, given at the slightest sign of hesitation.

She stood now in front of an abandoned cabin, in the dying of light. Abandoned, door ajar, window cracked.

She stepped inside the cabin. A family had lived here. A portrait hung by a broken table. Her fingers traced the lines. Two adults. Humes. A child and an infant. Doubtlessly a sum significant to this family was paid to some artist passing on his way to Eulmore.

Her eyes took in the bloodstains on the floor, and the walls – scattered, splashed, smeared. The scent of fear – primal, bowel-watering terror—filled the air, still.

The villager who had found them had described to her the scene. Both adults torn to literal pieces, and partially eaten. The infant drained of blood. The eldest child with her heart ripped through her chest.

She opened her bag, and took out an alchemical vial. Her own concoction – blood of several races and fortified with magic and herbs. She had devised the formula for her own use. She never dreamt she would use it for this.

She uncapped the vial and poured it into a small bowl she had brought with her, and set it on the floor in front of the portrait as the sun slipped below the horizon. She then removed her veil, and pulled a crossbow out of the bag. After inspecting and loading it, she set herself against the wall across the room from the portrait. The shapes on the portrait blurred and faded into the darkness as the last vestiges of light faded away.

And she waited.


	4. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason for some of the tags...

Night had fallen when she heard the creaking, scuffling under the floorboards. She stared through the wall as the sound continued outside, along the wall, towards the door, which she had propped open an inch.

It must have burrowed under the house from outside. Possibly for the duration of the light plague. It must have lain there, growing more and more insane by the decade, trapped by it's base instinct of hiding from the light.

Growing more and more  _hungry_ .

It must have sensed the night fall as she did – a susurration, a sense of coolness, the calming fingers of darkness flowing over the land. And so, once it turned towards the surface, it pinpointed the nearest source of blood, and then greedily, messily acquired it.

It may have been drawn back here, as the closest shelter. As what it knew. After a century of starving, of insanity, this place would be the closest this thing knew as safety.

The door creaked open, hesitantly, and the smell – primal, feral, old blood – overwhelmed her nostrils. The creature should have noticed her, leaning against the wall in plain sight, but her smell – tamed by civilization – was probably quite muted in comparison to the rich smell of her alchemical blood potion.

She wondered, abstractly, how much it would take to restore such a creature. How much to render it passably human, instead of what it was now – a multi-jointed creature with the roundness of a nearly-human head and crawling along the floorboards with the appearance of a four-limbed crippled bat. Four bodies' worth of blood, plus whatever it had managed to prey on since then, were evidently grossly inadequate.

The creature, upon finding the bowl, promptly thrust its face into it as if it was a dying person in a desert, eagerly slurping up its contents. Drips flew out and thin trails splashed over the edge of the bowl and onto the floor. It licked the bowl dry, then licked the floor, it's long pink tongue running over things like its own independent limb.

It was obvious to Izane this creature was ill suited to this world. This world she had survived to see. She would not permit this beast passage into her new paradise. One where their kind was forgotten. Once people started remembering the old legends, the ones from the night before the everlasting day, they would start scrutinizing the abnormal, the tall tales, the monsters who walked as humans.

Her.

The creature yawned, it's jaw seemingly unhinging, and proceeded to unfold its limbs as it rose to a position on its hind legs.

Her first crossbow bolt pinned its left shoulder to the portrait, piercing through the face of the mother. Her second, released a moment after, pinned the right shoulder to the chest of the father.

The creature let out of horrifying scream. She felt herself flinch in the face of its primalness, it's fury. It shook her to a place she was unaware still existed inside.

She loaded a third crossbow bolt and took a step towards the creature, keeping the crossbow pointing at it. It's...legs...were still folded, misshapen things, or she might have been more concerned about them possibly flailing. As it was, the creature could probably still easily rip itself out of the wall.

The creature's face slipped, slid, as her alchemical blood potion dispersed through its system. Eyelids opened to display human eyes hidden beneath. Black hair sprouted from its head and chin. The jaw retracted to thin, humanoid lips.

An intelligent, human face with eyes showing pain and incomprehension.

“Izane?”

She froze, finger remaining on the trigger.

“Izane! Where...am I?” it gasped, beginning to struggle against the bolts.

“Don't move,” she stated. The creature ceased to struggle. “What was – is your name?”

“D-d-davin. Davin Merill. The Third.” The potion must still be working it's effect, as the clarity of voice and humanness of face grew by the moment. “The light. It all happened so fast--”

“Davin.” Her voice was soft, gentle – “You were on your way to the Crystarium. What happened?”

“The light. I had no choice.” She saw the terror in the creature's eyes as the memory came over it. “I burrowed. I burrowed as fast as I could. And yet – it was always there, always around me. I kept going deeper. Deeper. And yet. I could feel it. All around me. But then – I couldn't burrow anymore. Couldn't move. I just lay there. Feeling it surround me. Burning.”

“Oh Davin.” Her free hand reached forward, brushed against its cheek. Against the scraggly bristles on its face, so far removed from the beautiful black silkiness she remembered. She stepped forward, keeping the crossbow pointed.

He smelled feral. Primal. It was a thousand times the smell she remembered from the days, years they spent together. She leaned into him, inhaling. Feeling him. She could feel her base instincts – muted as they had been by a century of abstinence – rising in response to him.

“Izane,” his whispered, his voice taking on a silvery trill she'd always been unable to resist. A shoulder wrenched out of the wall and an arm wrapped around her crushing her against his body. Against him. She felt him rising against her. “The lovely Izane. How long...has it been...”

She dropped the crossbow. Yanked the bolt out of his other shoulder. They fell, together, onto the blood-soaked floorboards. She moved, assertively, shoving him down on his back and climbing on top of him. She adjusted her skirt, and herself, until she caught his feral being between her legs.

She thrust herself on him, willing him deeper, his wild, jagged primalness. He responded in kind, hungrily rising, pushing. She felt his ferality, his savageness. His desire.

He had always been the more sophisticated sort – a believer in poetry and the gentle art of seduction. While they had made exuberant passion before, it lacked this hunger, this wildness.

His limbs, still in a mostly feral state, flapped against the floor, his back arced, his human face creating a soft O with his lips.

She moaned, a wild joyous moan, untamed by civilization and unfettered by listening ears. She collapsed, convulsing, on top of him, feeling wave after wave of a perfect floating sensation ripple through her.

He collapsed under her, also spent. His eyes fluttered, also in a bliss long unknown. She caressed his cheek, looking into his peaceful, half-lidded eyes. She thrust herself once more and he moaned, pushing reflexively

She calmly picked up the crossbow from where it had fallen. Holding his gaze with hers, she placed the crossbow against his chest.

She shot him through the heart while he shuddered inside her.

She remained there, staring into his face while it withered to dust. Felt the lightness between her legs. Remained there when he'd been reduced to a thin layer of ash on the floor. Holding the crossbow in the position she fired it.

A early morning bird chirped outside.

She stood up. Dusted off her thighs. Collected the bowl. Wrapped the veil around her face and put on her gloves. She hesitated by the portrait, now torn and worse for wear. Her hand caressed the face of the elder child, with blood from her father's chest dripping down her face.

Then Izane was gone.


End file.
